Where it Hurts
by Lena Ban Obsidian
Summary: Aya and Ken have a little talk in the bathroom. Prizefic from the Holiday Kitty Contest.


Where it Hurts  
Lena

Notes: My apologies, A-chan, but I simply cannot write humor right now. And also, I've been told that Aya wouldn't actually be able to, er, get off this way, so...yeah. Let's all close our eyes and pretend. ^_^;;; 

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He awoke from darkness into darkness. 

*Click* "-eather report for Thursday is cloudy with light rains over Tokyo and reaching as far as Osaka. In other news today--" He brought a tired hand down on the clock, shut off first the sound and then the alarm. It seemed he hadn't really slept, but laid still for the past three hours. His body ached with battle wounds, bruises that compiled into lumps of pain because he never took care of them. Ignoring his hurts, he eased out of the bed, ran a hand through oily hair, straightened his shirt and got out of bed. The floor was like ice, chill with the early spring, a shock and slight pleasure for his feet. He didn't turn on the light in the bathroom, but undressed efficiently, silently, listening to the soft whistle of air moving outside, and the rustle of his clothes sliding smooth and soft over his skin. The shower he was reluctant to turn on; switching to the hand held nozzle, he turned the knob for hot water slightly, listening to the high shrill whine of pressurized water as it sprang from the recesses of the plumbing. He stepped into the tub and ran the water over his body gently, in caressing strokes, and listened to the semi-silence with a sort of mad pleasure. 

Sensory underload. His personal poison. He loved it. 

Wet down, he set the nozzle down to drizzle over the base of the tub and into the drain, and grabbed the soap, rubbing it slowly and carefully into a lather, cleaning himself meticulously before rinsing. All that remained was his hair, now damp and auburn, hanging stickily over his face. 

Down the hall, a door opened and closed. It was such a quiet sound that any other might not have noticed it, but he was alert now and painfully aware that his silence was no doubt to be interrupted by whoever had closed the door. 

He hoped it wasn't Yohji. Yohji liked to talk. Yohji liked the sound of his own voice. 

Whoever it was, he mused to himself, did not have proper manners, or was not properly awake, for the door to the bathroom had opened wide before he quite realized that it was moving. Ken stood blurry-eyed and stricken before him, a dim shadow. 

"Aya?" The lights flicked on; blinking owlishly, he frowned at Ken until they were turned off again. Ken remained silent, watching him, until he abruptly remembered that he was naked and washing and the water still running. He motioned for Ken to leave, but the silhouette in his door didn't seem to be paying attention to what he did. 

Stepping forward, Ken closed and locked the door behind him. They stared at each other across a space of no more than two feet, locked in what Aya assumed to be a contest. He didn't need Ken staring at him right now. He wasn't feeling particularly sociable, and he wanted to finish taking his shower. 

"You look like you've been killed," Ken murmured finally, voice breaking oddly on the last word, something not quite...right...in his dark eyes. The words surprised him, and he looked down to find that, indeed, the bruises he felt had painted great streaks of violet across him, like tiger stripes. Something about seeing the color made him embarrassed to be looked at, and he did not look up again, trying to hide the flush in his face. 

"I'm taking a shower," he pointed out, hoping that Ken would suddenly turn back into his awkward naive self and run from the room, blushing like mad. It would reassure him somehow. As it was, he felt uncomfortable and at a disadvantage. And he wanted to change that immediately. 

"You are," Ken answered distantly, stepping forward, kneeling down and reaching out to take hold of his chin. He was surprised first by the touch, then by the strength of the hand holding him, as Ken lifted his chin and stared down into his eyes, searching for something. 

Unnerved, he tried to pull away. "Let go," he murmured-- no more than murmured-- fully aware that Yohji's room was closest, and that he didn't want to wake anyone. Lips quirking into a very soft, predatory smile, Ken shook his head, eyes intent on him. 

Something about the smile worried him. He hissed at Ken, irritated, frightened, and yanked back savagely enough to free himself-- and also to slam his head into the bar behind him, where the washcloth had been hung. 

Dizzied, he made an ineffective attempt to writhe away as Ken lifted him up, letting him half-sit against the wall. Warmth brushed over him in wet rivulets; his eyes focused on the nozzle. 

Ken pressed a soft kiss into his hair. "Omi's alarm goes off in an hour." There was amusement mixed with consolation in his voice, and the hand not holding the nozzle pressed him back against the wall, with only two firm fingers planted against his chest. Embarrassment or arousal colored his skin hotly from the tops of his ears to below his shoulders, and he bit back a moan of irritation, determined not to allow anyone else to find him in such a position. 

The warmth moved and pressed between his legs, under his balls and further, the water running smooth and hot like a tongue over him. Breath hitching on something neither gasp nor sob, he sighed, body moving in response to Ken's silent inquiry. The hand at his chest remained, pressing him back hared enough to feel the texture of the tiny square tiles and the rubbery grout between them. 

At first, the invasion was unnoticeable, the soft brush of now lukewarm water against his entrance like a sigh over a fevered brow. 

The pressure on his chest eased. 

The pressure of the water rose suddenly. 

"Ken--!" He whispered, harsh, fists clenching, the sudden pressure matched with heat, scalding, painful, filling him. 

Head thrown back, it was almost more than he could bear to feel Ken's hand return, twisting his nipple, while nimble teeth nipped at the junction of jaw and neck. The pressure was constant. His hips twisted uneasily in the confines of the tub, restricted by things more solid, more powerful than his will. 

With his lips at Aya's ears, Ken chuckled softly, twisting harder, making muscles spasm in weak empathy. 

"You're alive, aren't you Aya? Prove to me you're alive..." The whisper was desperate, fierce-- 

Insane. Laughter became louder, while the whine of the water buzzed in his ears and the moan in his throat broke from his control. It wrenched out of him, an admission of defeat, that yes, he was alive, and he was suffering, and that was all there ever was for him anymore was this meaningless living-- 

The pressure was unbearable. Ken's mouth locked on his, swallowing his next cry, plundering him as the water did. He could feel his erection pressed back against his belly, throbbing with the need to release. 

It came upon him so hard that he returned again to darkness, half-sobbing, spent. 

"Aya," said a voice beyond where he could see. There were sparks of something overwhelmingly good across everything. The very air seemed to be filled with primal ecstasy. "Aya?" Said the voice again, more familiar this time. 

"Nn?" 

A hand ruffled his hair good-naturedly; he leaned into the contact, savoring it. "You'd better clean up, Aya. I know you don't want them to find you like this." 

The bolt locking them in was thrown back and footsteps, light and lithe, announced the departure of his captor. The door was closed solicitously behind, and down the hall an echoing slam announced that Ken had returned to his room. 

It took his hands too long to stop shaking, and Omi had awakened long before he felt clean enough to exit the bathroom and get redressed for the daytime. 

Ken sent an oblique smile his way as he entered the kitchen. 

He looked away as quickly as he could to hide the blush. 

* * *

Acropolis Fanfiction  
Main Hall


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